Tempered By War, Disciplined By a Hard and Bitter Peace
by sequestration13
Summary: The NCR and Legion settle into a deep, uneasy truce after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. What shall come of the two sides still battling silently against one another for supremacy in the ruins of the American West?
1. Chapter 1

Tempered By War, Disciplined By a Hard and Bitter Peace

Sequestration13

Chapter I

It was such a pain to be reminded of past failures, thought the Courier as walked out of Hoover Dam. With his hands up, at gunpoint, in his T-51b Power Armor, escorted by a bunch of men wearing crude imitations of Roman armor.

The whole operation had gone so well too. The few remnants of the Enclave had done masterfully, and the artillery had worked magic at thinning out the Legion lines. But had it all been for naught? The Great Khans, who had sworn their grudging allegiance to their mortal enemies in the New California Republic must have been decimated. The results of months of careful cultivation, painstaking diplomacy through Ambassador Crocker, then Colonel Moore, and then to General Oliver were the exact failure he had been so terrified of.

But as the forces of the Legion swept across the lines like a sickening crimson tide, no technology in the world could have stopped them. Not that the Courier hadn't tried. Once the realization hit him, he ran past the minefield, positioning himself between General Oliver and the door. First Annabelle, then the Holorifle, then the Gauss Rifle, then the Tesla Cannon, then the Anti-Materiel Rifle, then the Light Machine Gun, then the Brush Gun, then This Machine, then the Riot Shotgun, then the Ranger Sequoia, and as the firing pin hit on another empty chamber, he had tried to draw Maria, but by then, even Oliver had seen the futility of the situation and told him to stand down. Benny's final vengeance.

That had resulted in a short reprieve as the Courier and General Oliver knelt before the unwashed red mass of men as none other than the Monster of the East himself had moved through his men. Even though the mask on his helm covered his face, the Courier could have sworn he was smiling.

"General Lee Oliver! The leader of the profligates in the Mojave. You have done good work, Men of the Legion. Any last words, General?"

"You know that this campaign is not over! As long as I live -"

"Well," chuckled the giant. "It's over now." He brought the Blade of the East crashing down on Oliver's neck, severing it cleanly and sending it bouncing up and down on the cold tile floor.

A roar echoed throughout the confined offices of Hoover Dam, sweet to the ears of the Legion but painful to the Courier. Even the sound dampeners could not completely block out the throaty roar. "And now, for the man who has caused even more trouble than the head of the Profligates!" Oh goodie.

* * *

A good six hours later, Courier Six was forced at gun and ballistic fist point into the Fort. Immediately, nearly all of the Legion stopped and looked, then quickly looked back at what they were doing as the power armor whirred past them and faded off up the hill. Upon the entrance to Caesar's tent, Vulpes Inculta smirked as he saw the metal fish that Lanius had caught.

"Lord Caesar, I wish to offer you a gift, as tribute from the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. I bring you the Courier; the man who has vexed the Legion over these last three months."

Seeing no better option, the Courier dropped to his right knee and bowed his head. Keeping his head down, the Courier hesitantly began, "Caesar", taking care to pronounce it the Legion way, "I do apologize for inconveniencing you so."

Until this point, Caesar had serenely sat on his chair, but at this mockery he could not help but laugh. "And you thought that you would be able to come right here. You were _amicus_ to the Legion. How could you have betrayed us so?"

"My Lord Caesar, it was . . ."

"That was a rhetorical question. The ways of the Profligates are tempting to say the least. You know I have a cross with your name on it, right?"

Lucius smiled at the thought at getting revenge for all of those Praetorians that he had sent to kill. The feeling of finally opening that cursed metal shell to find the soft neck. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen the Courier ever show his face. He was always wearing a facial covering of some kind.

"Yes, my Lord," replied the Courier penitently.

"Who knows? You could even become one of my best lieutenants. Again." Caesar leaned forwards to see the hulking power armored Courier. "But first, you must prove your worth. Again."

Lucius motioned to his Praetorians to get the infernal suit of armor off of him. The Courier, not one for pomp and ceremony as well as the undoubtedly grabby approach of the Praetorian Guard, simply complied with the order, taking off the helmet, then the armor itself, and finally the bodyglove.

While the Legion was not known to be surprised at the tricks the NCR played on them, quite a few were stunned at what they saw: a skinny young man, nearly as pale as the tents, who calmly stripped himself naked and laid himself prostrate at Caesar's feet.

Vulpes could not help but note the irony. "The profligates truly were mistaken if they put their trust in a man who relies on Old World technology instead of his own wits."

"You shall be _our_ greatest hero, Courier," proclaimed Caesar as the Praetorians dragged him out of the tent and out of mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

To say the media fallout over President Kimball's expedition into the Mojave was withering would have been putting it kindly. Shady Sands was in an absolute uproar over the humiliating loss of an NCR hero, the Courier. Former Colonel, now General Hsu was tasked with finding the man who had seemingly disappeared off of the face of the Earth.

"I'm sorry Mr. President. We just cannot afford any more sorties past the Mojave Outpost."

"That's not an option, General. I will not be known as the President who lost the Mojave. The Legion is still coalescing, and they will soon be too tough to dislodge," insisted President Kimball, looking in mad desperation at the newly redrawn map of the West Coast.

The general shook his head. If that was how Kimball wanted to play it . . . "Fine. We will send First Recon back into the Mojave."

Hsu was startled as Kimball slapped him on the back. "That's the spirit, General. I knew you'd see it my way." Kimball raced off, his guards running after him.

Sighing, Hsu dutifully began signing yet more requisition forms to allow First Recon to go on its President-approved black operation deep into the heart of the enemy.

* * *

Clucking his tongue, Vulpes Inculta marveled at the incredible thrashing they had given the Courier, yet he refused to talk. "Why do you insist on resisting, Courier?"

"Mr. Inculta. Do not let the fact that I am tied naked onto this slab deceive you into believing that I will crack easily," came the damnably smooth voice of the young Courier. "Whatever intelligence I have is by now out of date. You seek to keep me here as a mere morale booster for your troops."

"It has been four months, Courier. Your professed homeland has not flown off to save you."

The Courier laughed. "As surely as Caesar is the Son of Mars, I hold out hope that California will not forget one of its sons."

Vulpes shook his head and took off his sunglasses. "As much as _I_ enjoy our witty conversations, I am afraid that my brothers and subordinates are not into verbal sparring. Physical sparring on the other hand . . ."

"Remind me again of how having one man tied up while the other punches him constitutes sparring," responded the Courier acidly.

Vulpes put all his weight behind the next punch.

* * *

Manny Vargas had been among the last to escape the crimson tide sweeping across the Mojave Wasteland. Parlaying his modest government pension into a relatively comfortable living on the outskirts of Shady Sands, he figured that now would be the time to finally sit down and reminisce as old soldiers do. Sometimes it was best to move on, the lesson that he had learned at great cost from his good friend Boone.

Standing up from a wooden chair in his parlor, Manny hurriedly threw away the newspaper. The headline read "Our Courier: Dead or Alive?". It was yet another piece on the ineffectiveness of Kimball to save the Courier.

A knock on the door interrupted his reverie.

Manny nearly bumped his shin against the remnants of a coffee table in his haste to answer.

"Manny," said his former squadmate.

"Craig Boone. How in the world did you get out from the mess that was the retreat?"

Boone shrugged his shoulders. "Does it matter?"

"Why yes, Boone. It does, because I believed you dead. That you would hole yourself up at Bitter Springs and keep firing at those bastards until they slit your throat," Manny replied angrily.

"I know a lost cause when I see one."

"That wasn't the Craig Boone that I knew."

Boone lowered his gaze. "I found a friend, who reminded me of something I once forgot. And I intend to get him back."

"Is that so," Manny replied as he noticed the considerable provisions that his former spotter carried on his person. "Where are we going this time?"

"Wherever that bald bastard has the Courier. First Recon's going back behind the lines."


End file.
